


vicious traditions

by velificatio



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: 17th Century, Bloodplay, Cannibalism, F/M, M/M, Masochism, Multi, Necrophilia, Sadism, Self-Harm, Torture, Vampirarchy, Vampires, period
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-10
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2020-08-14 15:23:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20194453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/velificatio/pseuds/velificatio
Summary: 1605. In the court of the vampire Supreme Saito, ambitious human noblemen Eames and Artur battle for the coveted position of favorite bestower. Winner takes life everlasting.





	vicious traditions

Reader, although this moment has happened many times before and shall undoubtedly happen again, we still entreat you to pay close attention. For you are going to bear witness to the fall of a dynasty.

Harsh as they are proud, the Bokori’s of Hungary have governed over the land of Erlau for nine generations, amassing wealth and influence. Yet like their sigil the wolf, hunger drives them. A bottomless urge, their ambitions to stretch their territory further have gone untamed. And shall now be their downfall. When the wolves are howling at your door, the best response is the roar of a mightier beast. So it is that the royal House of Habsburg has sent a monster in the skin of a man to Erlau with a sizeable army at his command.

Hailing from a bloodline far older than the Bokori, they have long served the sovereigns of their nation as its foremost torturers and executioners. Now near-impoverished, their swords are no less sharp or quick to the cut. They are night hunters, their crumbling castle filled with the skins of man and beast alike.

As this hunter regards the territory of his quarry, an unseen smile graces his lips. It is only fitting that in the wolf-light, that feral hour of dusk when natures nocturnal animals rise to begin their nightly prowl that House Bokori will meet its demise. 

+

“The crown appreciates your service.” Artur told the fisherman who had ferried him and 30 of his men to the castle.

The dirty, stout man whose name Artur didn’t care to remember looked about impatiently. “I expect to be paid in more than words. What of my reward?”

Artur smiled. “Of course.” He replied, ostensibly reaching for a purse of gold coin. What he grasped instead was the hilt of his dagger as two of his men seized the fisherman’s arms and covered his mouth. His throat was cut swiftly, corpse dumped into the river. Nothing personal, but he didn’t exactly have much money to spare.

He sheathed his dagger, briefly contemplating his reflection in the water. His armor was entirely black with curved lines of sinew etched into it to give the appearance of flayed human muscle, an emblem representing House Csonka’s sigil, the Wounded Knight. Attached to the back of his left pauldron was a flowing gold cape which cascaded down to his greaves.

Artur looked away, addressing his men, “Once we’re in the hallway of the Lord’s chambers there’s a good amount of space between each room.” A handful of them were only clad in chainmail. He had also brought along two of his brothers, Edvard and Almos. Although they were older than him, command of the army was undisputedly in Artur’s hands. “The guards outside Count Bokori’s chambers have already been dealt with. Two of you will take their armor and dispatch of the guards outside Lady Bokori’s chambers. We’ll repeat this tactic until we’ve cleared the entire hall. Edvard and Almos will round up the three youngest sons and bring them alive to Lady Bokori’s chambers. She does not die until I am finished with her. Leave no other survivors.”

Bokori’s castle was equipped with a winding secret passage from its riverfront leading to the building where Count Bokori slept and several other members of his family were lodged alongside. At least two hundred soldiers defended the castle. Not all of them were men of honor. He knew from his spies that the Bokori’s had been thinning their payments to their guards. Greed was an excellent motivator for betrayal. Artur had paid two soldiers to undo the bolts of the door, granting them access to the family.

He led his men through the passage, slipping in past the door. Soon they came across the corpses of the guards stationed outside the Lord’s chambers. Bokori’s house colors were red and black, and they incorporated the red heavily into their armor. This worked in their favor, it was difficult at first glance to see the blood. As planned, two of Artur’s men took the armor and dressed in it, heading for the next chamber.

Meanwhile, Artur and three of his men went inside the Lord’s chamber. Paul Bokori had not been roused from his slumber, and appeared to be sleeping pleasantly. A man without a care in the world, so confident in his safety he neglected to have guards posted inside his chambers as well as outside.

He stood in the shadows as his men wrenched Paul awake, his arms grabbed, knife at his throat to dissuade him from calling out. At first the count struggled violently, trying to free himself from their grasp. When that failed, he resorted to an all too familiar tactic: begging.

“I can give you titles, lands.” Bokori’s eyes were wide with fear. “Name your price!”

It was then Artur chose to step out of the shadows. “Unfortunately for you the price I am here to collect shall be paid in blood as well as land.” He looked down upon Bokori with disdain. “The Habsburgs do not respond mercifully to treason.”

Face turning red with rage, Paul Bokori spat at him, “Count Csonka, I see the Habsburgs are still sending their favorite dogs to do their dirty work.”

“Bold words for a dead man, but I suppose I must commend you for trying to salvage what little dignity you have left before you meet your end.” Artur drew his longsword.

As the inevitability of his death became clear, Paul remained a spiteful creature. “You may take my land, but your house will always be a beggar among our lot.”

“You may be right. However, at least I will have the memory of the look on your face as you die. A small pleasure perhaps, but a pleasure all the same.” And Artur plunged his sword into Bokori’s stomach. A blow to the heart would be quicker, more merciful, but he wasn’t here to be merciful.

He and his men watched Bokori sputter and cough up blood, making pitiful pained moans. Artur twisted the blade, slowly dragging it upwards. Those pristine white sheets Bokori slept in quickly turned into a sea of red, with small patches of color where the count’s guts slid free from his body. Then came the stench of him having soiled himself, his last act before dying. His men had the benefit of their helmets to somewhat conceal the odor, but Artur was experienced enough in the foulness of death to remain unphased.

They let Bokori’s corpse slump into the stained sheets and Artur swiftly severed his head with a single strike from his sword. Paul’s head was placed in a sack for one of his men to carry. From outside the chamber the sounds of his men battling with the remaining guards and killing the members of House Bokori sleeping in adjoining rooms could be heard. Where some might become disoriented by the intimate-scale chaos, Artur found his focus sharpened further as they moved to Lady Bokori’s chambers.

They found her bound and kneeling on the floor, her ivory night clothes stained with blood.

“Mercy!” She pled, tears falling. “Please, mercy!”

One could almost feel pity for her. Artur knew better. Lady Bokori was as much a politician as her husband. If Paul had decided to court treason, no doubt his wife had followed in his footsteps. “You seek the impossible my lady. A message must be sent to all nobility that the price for conspiring with the Turks is heavy.” Edvard and [ Á ](https://www.behindthename.com/name/a10lmos)lmos entered the room then. As they brought in Albert, Béla and Csanád, Lady Bokori’s sobs became louder. “That the sins of the father will be visited upon the sons. And the wives, and the daughters. Your other children are dead, only these three remain.”

“You have a demon’s black heart.” Lady Bokori seemed to grasp ahold of some courage, however fleeting. She met Artur’s stare.

Artur shook his head. “Not as black as you might think. Having a survivor to recount what happened here would be beneficial. I will allow you to decide who that survivor will be.” He held up his sword. The blood on it glimmered in the light from the outside corridor. “So my lady, which son will live to tell the tale?”

“I will not choose between my sons as though they were livestock for a butcher! I would rather die!”

“You will,” Artur said. “And if you do not choose, all three of your sons will follow you.”

They stared at each other then, Lady Bokori’s courage slowly drained from her eyes and Artur’s resolve remained as implacable as a mountain. He had his orders, he would see them through. At last she answered him. Her voice was but a whisper. “Albert, the oldest.”

Artur nodded. “Thank you.” And he cut Albert’s head off.

Lady Bokori began screaming. Her hands flew towards her face, clawing at her pale skin. Artur nodded at his brothers, who both drew their blades and plunged them into the remaining son’s backs.

“I take no joy in the slaughter of children but I gave my word I would make you suffer.” Artur said, and there was no sympathy in his voice. Lady Bokori was given a few moments to contemplate the bodies of her youngest children before her throat was cut.

Artur took their heads off himself. Each were placed in their own sacks. When Béla and Csanád’s heads were taken Edvard staggered back, removing his helmet to wretch onto the floor.

Once he would have been more understanding, for those twin boys were only four, hardly more than babes. Instead Artur huffed impatiently. “Are you serious Edvard? You spend most of your days in the dungeons of our castle interrogating prisoners. You can’t hold it together at the sight of two dead boys you don’t even know?”

“Fuck off.” Was all Edvard said.

Artur shoved him back against the wall, bringing the boys heads up for him to see. “This is why mother insisted that you come along. That little bit of softness that still lays in your heart, you would do well to kill it or it will be the end of you.”

Almos came between them. “Easy, brother. Your point has been made.”

Frowning, Artur shrugged his hand off his shoulder. “We still have work to do.” He threw the boys heads at Almos. “Let’s go.”

His eldest brother was not finished however. “We can’t all be soulless, brother,” Edvard petulantly called after him.

Artur didn’t bother responding. Despite his occupation as a chief torturer, Edvard stood apart from several members of the Csonka family. At his core, he was not a cruel man, in fact he was haunted by what he was made to do on a regular basis.

For himself, Artur had no such fear of vengeful spirits or memories. He’d buried his soul so far down inside the Devil himself wouldn’t be able to find it. 

+

Hedonist had always been one of Eames’ favorite titles. It possessed a certain elevated quality to it. Reminiscent of the Greek gods of old who would indulge in frenzied orgies that inevitably led to bloodshed. He fancied himself a patron of all manners of pleasure debauched and amoral.

So here he found himself in a sumptuous ballroom, belly full of the finest wine, reclining on a lounge as he watched his lover do what she did best: seize the heart of a man with their dying breaths as she killed them. Mal’s breasts were spilling out of her bodice, those rosy nipples out in invitation but he knew better than to interrupt her feeding.

The poor sap was still clutching at the folds of her dress desperately, begging for salvation even as he laid there still with fright. As she leaned over him Mal’s lips split open into four sections all the way to her cheeks and jaw, bearing a grotesque resemblance to the wings of a butterfly. At the tip of each section was a single sharp stinger. Her teeth were visible entirely, all of them finely pointed. It was a sight many would characterize as horrific but to Eames there was an otherworldly beauty to it.

He watched her tear into the man’s throat, the jets of blood that erupted from the wound staining her breasts and clothing. Utterly ravishing. With the light of the hanging candles above them shining on her it looked as though she were bathed in stars. Crimson and gold. She could have anyone she wanted. She’d had everyone in this room and he was the only lover left alive.

As she rose, Eames patted his leg in invitation. “Again?”

Mal smirked, running her fingers through her hair. “Not yet. Go to your bride. Lay with him for me.”

Eames tilted his head. He looked over to where the pleasure boy they had bought and dressed up in a wedding gown was lying lifeless on sheets covered in flower petals on the floor. “Didn’t we poison him?”

“We did. But he’s still warm, it hasn’t been that long chéri.” There was a not so subtle hint of challenge in her voice. A dare, a game. How far would Eames go tonight?

Let it not be said that Eames was a man averse to engaging in new experiences.

He moved over to the boy, deftly lifting his veil. It was almost a shame, as he was very beautiful with high cheekbones and full pink lips he’d barely had his fill of before he’d succumbed to the poison. Feeling Mal’s eyes on him he ran his fingers through those soft brown ringlets of hair and, after a brief moment of hesitation, bent down and kissed his lips. They _ were _ still warm.

Since he didn’t need to be concerned about preparing his “bride” for his cock, Eames simply lifted up his skirts and brought his legs up. He was already slicked from being in Mal and he pushed into a velvety heat with little resistance. So much for stiffness.

But even as he began to move he found he wasn’t particularly enjoying this. “I must admit love, this does nothing for me.”

Mal tsked, sauntering towards them. “It’s _ romantic _ Alfred. Like Selene’s passion for the sleeping Endymion. But even more so.” She touched the boy’s face. “Youth, beauty, and the fragility of life. He will never be more perfect then he is in this moment. And you, even death cannot destroy your desire. In fact it only inflames it. He is yours completely, body and life and soul. There is no intimacy greater than this.”

Her words, but more so her touch, helped to keep his desire kindled. Although he still felt little passion for the sex itself, seeing the arousal in Mal’s eyes and watching her pleasure herself in response to his actions was enjoyable.

In keeping with the scenario she’d created his thrusts were languorous and smooth. He continued to kiss the boy, to let his hands roam over his body. Surprisingly it did not take him long to reach his peak. A bead of sweat fell from his head onto the boy’s neck and without thought Eames followed its trail with his tongue

Beside him Mal moaned softly. “That’s perfect Eames, just like that…”

She turned his head to kiss her and he groaned into her mouth as he spilled himself. Her hand from where she was holding his face was wet from her sex. As they broke apart he brought it to his mouth and licked, savoring her.

Mal reclined with a sigh of satisfaction as he pulled out. “That was fun.” She grinned. “I almost pity the servants who will be cleaning up this mess but it is their job.”

Eames chuckled. “Next time I want to watch you with a bride.” He told her, arm around her waist to pull her on top of him. He wanted more wine and more of her. She gave him an indulgent smile, she would spoil him tonight.

Pity they’d killed everyone else at this party already, he did so love to watch Mal dominate others while he had his cock inside her. But he supposed he couldn’t always have everything he wanted. Easy pleasures would grow tiresome.

In any case, no one was going to come looking for their guests and even if they did there was nothing for them to be concerned about. Eames was a Duke, Mal a Marquis, the rules for them were quite different.

  


+

Castle Alvilág was situated atop a towering cliff overlooking the Tisza river. Surrounded by a rugged, mountainous region, the castle was comprised of three towers with distinctive sharp points at its peak, giving the illusion of massive swords when seen from afar. The tower closest to the cliff’s edge had for years been in disrepair, numerous holes were visible from where the stone had crumbled and fallen below into the river. This made it ideal for executing prisoners, who would be thrown out to die crushed on the rocks below. Apart from that, the tower went largely unaccessed, and now housed numerous bats. Built out of black stone, Alvilág contained a castle yard, a library, and was enclosed by a mammoth curtain wall, upon which were mounted the flags of House Csonka as well as statues of flayed men and grotesque gargoyles.

As Artur rode his pale mare through town in late evening, beggars and common folk cleared the street for him. Their faces weathered, hardened but not unafraid.

House Csonka governed over a populace which had previously earned its lot through mining for metals. By now, however, they had exhausted most of the easily accessible deposits and had been eclipsed by the importing of metals from the New World. At the base of the mountain, the towns mills and forges were as dilapidated as the once grand castle which loomed over them like a shadow.

As the castle gates were parted, there stood his mother Apolonia waiting for him. A tall, graceful woman with night-black hair and eyes a stormy grey-blue. She wore a small ruff around her long neck and her black velvet gown was high waisted to accommodate the large swell of her belly. Though their house was in poor circumstances financially that had not dissuaded his dear father from putting one last child in his wife before he died. As if 11 living children was a pitiful feat.

Dismounting from his horse, Artur had one of his men lead it to the stables as he approached her. He took her gloved hand in his, placing a kiss on it. “My lady.”

Apolonia gave him a small smile. Her eyes were hungry. “How was the hunt?”

“Fruitful, the Habsburgs shall have plenty of heads to mount outside their castle. I sent Edvard and Almos to deliver them.”

She pulled Artur’s hair free of its binding, running her fingers through its lengthy tresses which ran down to his shoulders. “Did you bring me ample material for my sewing?”

“Of course mother.” Artur led her over to a wagon where, under a sheet, the headless bodies of the Bokori family had been piled. It was an old Csonka custom to flay the skin of their enemies and sew them onto banners and flags.

“And Edvard? How did he fare?”

“He was resoundingly disappointing.” Alas Edvard was the eldest son, the de facto head of House Csonka in name at least. Therefore he had to be the one to inform the king of their victory. Just as well, Artur had no desire for a long journey on horseback.

Apolonia hooked her arm around his, leading him inside the castle.

+

In his wardrobe chamber, illuminated by the lights of hundreds of surrounding candles, Artur slowly immersed himself into a bath of frigidly cold water. Warmth was far too indulgent a sensation for him to be comfortable in, while the cold had a way of keeping one's senses heightened. While he bathed he burned cinnamon incense to keep the room pleasingly fragrant.

There was a painted fresco atop the ceiling of his chamber, depicting the Black Death. Artur had always been fascinated by the images of blisters and boils on pale, writhing victims. The skeletons in robes leading them towards death. But most particularly the flagellants held his attention and imagination. For years he had wondered what it would feel like to tear at one's own flesh. He’d still been a boy when he’d first retrieved a scourge from the dungeons and whipped himself bloody. When she’d discovered his wounds his mother had been furious at his failure to properly care for them. She’d immediately assigned a servant the task of cleaning and dressing any injuries he caused himself.

Presently Artur reached behind himself, fingers smoothing over scar tissue. Perhaps tonight he would fetch his scourge and lash himself-

“Good evening Count Csonka.”

Immediately Artur reached for a nearby dagger, not recognizing the voice of the man addressing him. There was only one entrance to this chamber, he would have seen someone come in. Which meant his visitor had to have been inside before he’d arrived. Yet Artur had not felt the presence of anyone. Catching him off-guard was no small feat.

“Show yourself.” Artur demanded, glancing periodically to each dark corner of the room. There weren’t many shadows for the man to hide in, yet he managed to elude Artur’s gaze.

For several long moments there was no response but the sounds of nightlife outside. Then just as Artur began to rise from his bath he saw movement in the corner of his vision. Out stepped an impeccably handsome man in clothing just as fine. The gentleman was blond-haired and blue eyed, with a well-oiled pointed beard. He wore a small white ruff, a black slashed velvet doublet revealing a purple undershirt, breeches of the same color and a purple cape slung over his left shoulder.

Those eyes of his were very intense, Artur found himself distracted by them. “Who are you?” He asked, standing up fully once he’d collected himself.

The man’s eyes were fixed on his. He was being regarded with just as much intensity. That gaze wandered over his form languidly, as one would contemplate a lover. Or a marvellous kill. “My name is Dominik. I was a benefactor of a mutual acquaintance we shared.”

The Bokori, of course. Artur turned the knife into a more offensive grip. “And now you’ve come for vengeance?” His tone was frank with boredom. What a disappointing motivation.

“Perhaps, perhaps not.” Dominik strolled further forward, running his fingertips through the flames of several nearby candles. “In truth, this meeting was long overdue. I’ve heard many tales of the horrors of House Csonka yet those fables weren’t quite enough to capture my full attention.”

Artur could not help but roll his eyes. “Then I suppose I should be honored to have your attention now.”

Though he had taken a fighting stance, what occurred next happened so swiftly Artur didn’t have any time to move. Faster than his eyes could follow, Dominik crossed the threshold of the room over to him, seizing his arm and waist in an iron hold. Never before had Artur witnessed such speed, part of him was amazed. Yet despite having him in a much more vulnerable position, Dominik did not move to kill him. From an outside perspective, their new position was almost comical. Artur was naked and still clutching his dagger despite the grip on his wrist, while Dominik was holding him at arm’s length by the waist as though they were dancing.

They were so very close now, enough that Artur could clearly observe the man’s deathly paleness. He could see vivid lines of red and blue veins. Only corpses were that pale. His skin too, was inhumanely cold. “You’re not human.” Artur said, sure of it. Any other person would feel fear at such a revelation. Instead, Artur’s curiosity was piqued. 

He was given an appraising smile. “No, I am not.” Dominik opened his mouth and his tongue became elongated, running down the length of his neck to the top of his chest. Vertically on each side of it was a row of sharp barbs and at his tongue’s tip was a larger, longer hooked barb. All of them looked sharp as a newly crafted blade. Artur found himself wondering what kind of mark they’d leave on skin. Preferably his.

So Dominik was a creature of folklore and nightmares. Artur knew the tales, stories of blood drinking undead known as upior or simply vampire. Their hunger for blood was insatiable. 

“You know, if you’re still undecided as to whether you mean to hurt me.” Artur spoke in a low, beguiling tone. “I must tell you I rather enjoy that sort of thing.”

Dominik’s eyebrows rose. Then he chuckled. He touched Artur’s face, fingers trailing over his lips and beard before moving back to his waist. “You’re quite an anomaly. I like you. What would you say if I offered you the position of bestower?”

“Bestower?” Artur had never heard that term before.

“An ancient custom between vampires and nobility. You and your family would become my auspices. In exchange for unlimited access to your blood, I would watch over your house and ensure its fortune and prosperity.”

It was a tempting offer, given the current state of their house. Even so, Artur found there was a glaring issue going unaddressed. “That did not work out too favorably for the Bokori’s.”

“Because they grew arrogant, careless of my advice and rules. I dictate a specific meal and drinking regiment to my bestowers to increase the flavor and potency of their blood. I also advise them on matters of politics. They chose to defy me and collaborate with the Turks, so I released them from my service.”

Artur considered the offer. Blood and adherence to food regulations seemed a small price for what Dominik was offering. Still, he could not rely solely on his words for confidence in his abilities.

“How many auspices do you have?” Artur asked.

Dominik did not appear dissuaded by his stubbornness. “Your family will be my third, alongside House Báthory and House Ardelean.”

Impressive. The Báthory family was one of the wealthiest of Hungarian nobles, so much so that they had been lending the Habsburgs money to keep the kingdom afloat. And while not equally successful in terms of wealth, House Ardelean was also a formidable Transylvanian noble family.

If Dominik was truly capable of elevating the Csonka family to such a status...

Artur’s grip on his dagger loosened. “Alright,” He said. “I will have to discuss this with mother though.” As the head of their house Edvard should be consulted as well. But everyone knew he would yield to their mother’s decision regardless. Why waste the effort trying to convince him?

Dominik smiled, as though he already knew how Apolonia would respond. “We will fit well together Artur.”

  


+

Apolonia had not been difficult to persuade to agree to Dominik’s arrangement. She’d taken in the proposal silently, her expression difficult to discern. Artur hadn’t been certain of what her response would be but when Dominik had finished speaking to her she splayed her hand atop the swell of her stomach and looked at him sharply. “The child I’m carrying, I want them married into the Báthory family. You will arrange this?”

Dominik bowed his head slightly. “With pleasure my lady.”

Apolonia appeared only marginally satisfied. “Tell me more of how you plan to elevate our house.”

Dominik then spent the following hour laying out his plans for the elevation of their house. They were ambitious strategies, though Artur noted that quite a few of them would take a good amount of time before they’d reap the benefits. Yet neither he nor his mother were dissuaded by this. Dominik had a very persuasive tongue. There was an interesting, quiet charisma to him.

Afterwards Artur led Dominik back to his chambers. “Tell me, do you fuck your auspices?”

Again Dominik appeared slightly caught off guard. “I do often find myself in intimate relations with some, though not all of them. You’d be surprised how often bloodletting leads to passion.”

Artur smirked, “I doubt that. How will you take my blood?”

“For my bestowers often I use a small blade and bleed them into a cup. I have a salve I can apply afterwards to prevent scars from forming.”

Once they were inside his bedchambers, Artur slipped out of his night dressings. “I don’t mind scars, quite the opposite in fact.” 

When he turned enough to reveal the scars on his back he heard Cobb make a noise of surprise but otherwise not comment on them.

He had no qualms about being cut with a blade, only that it seemed far too...tame for his tastes. There were certainly more exciting methods of bloodletting he could think of.

As he allowed Dominik to press him down onto the bedsheets, he could not help but frown when his lips were taken in a kiss. He responded appropriately, opening his mouth and flicking his tongue, but his body was stiff, lacking passion.

Which Dominik noticed. Pulling away, he stared at Artur intently. “You do not enjoy this?”

If they were going to have carnal relations, it wouldn’t do well to lie. Artur shrugged. “Tenderness should only reign after a sound beating.” He explained. 

“So you crave a harsher hand?”

“Aye. In my family some torment, and some are tormented.” Artur scratched down the back of Dominik’s neck as he spoke. “I myself fancy the latter role.”

He couldn’t deduce the expression on Dominik’s face. But he seemed to be giving Artur’s words a great deal of thought. “Do you not feel pain?”

“Of course I do. I simply endure it better than most. Revel in it even.”

Whatever Dominik was searching for as he studied his face he seemed to find. “I see. Lift up one of your arms.”

Artur obeyed, then reclined his head in near-rapture as the barbs along Dominik’s tongue sliced open the tender skin of his left underarm. From his time spent in the castle dungeons he knew how sensitive that area of the body was. With previous lovers he had allowed them to bite him there, which he’d found quite pleasurable. This was even better, the pain more pronounced, and the sensation of feeling blood run down his body into Dominik’s mouth was especially thrilling. As he felt those teeth effortlessly cut through the layers of his body into the muscle as if it were warm butter, he hadn’t been this aroused in quite some time.

He soon had one hand fisting his bedsheets, the other giving his cock a stinging slap. When Dominik seemed to have had his fill he began to pull away. “Do the other side,” Artur urged him.

There was hesitation in Dominik’s eyes which brought a low growl of displeasure to Artur’s throat. Avoiding rolling his eyes in impatience, he instead pulled Dominik down for a kiss, meaning to coax him into compliance. It worked. His right underarm was soon in the same deliciously wounded state as his left. 

Artur sat up and impatiently began divesting Dominik of his clothing, uncaring of whether he tore the fabric or not. Such was the single mindedness of his need. The vampire lord was more enthusiastic now that it appeared they were moving onto more traditional sex acts. He grabbed Artur’s legs and wrapped them around his waist, and brought a hand down to his hole.

Artur swatted it away. “That won’t be necessary.” He assured.

Again with hesitation coloring his tone.”It will be quite uncomfortable and painful.”

“Precisely how I want it. Get in me. If I rip, I rip and my blood shall be ample to ease the passage.”

When there was no movement yet Artur huffed. Taking the initiative he shoved Dominik to lie down on his back. He got himself lined up Dominik’s cock and without preamble pushed down onto it, not stopping until it was all the way sheathed inside of him. While he was not the biggest Artur had had, he was endowed enough to create sharp, burning stretch. The friction was rough, perfect, he moaned freely, grinding down. 

There was a slickness inside him he knew must be blood which only increased his passion. He bounced atop Dominik, taking one of the hands that was holding his hip and bringing it up to his underarm which was still bleeding. With a groan Dominik began to buck up into him, his restraint collapsing. As he thrust Dominik’s fingers dug into the wounds and while his nails were not long they were finely pointed. The sensation which erupted was akin to being prodded with a needle. Artur moaned, smacking his cock harder. 

They rutted in a harsh, hurried pace, Dominik splaying his free hand down Artur’s body, wetting his fingers with the blood which he brought to his lips. The third time he did this Artur caught his hand, raising it to his mouth and licking his own blood off the fingers. With a grunt Dominik spilled himself inside of him. Artur gave his own hardness one final slap and he soon followed in climax.

Breathing hard, he lifted himself off Dominik, lying down in the sheets beside him. He had to swallow an irritated grunt when he felt an arm wrap around his waist. This was not something he indulged in either but for now he would allow it.

He laid there, bleeding into the bedsheets. Momentarily satisfied. 

  


+

  


Among members of the blood it was believed the essence of one’s soul resides in their heart. That exquisite organ through which their lifestream ran. Sensuous and vital. During feasts they would dine on raw human hearts as the final course. It was appropriate then, that for their most important ceremony an elected member known as the Supreme would consume the heart of the previous holder of that title.

Set atop a porcelain platter, presented at a sumptuous banquet lies the heart of the former Supreme. Radiant and golden with the power of the Morningstar bound within its chambers. There was no greater power a vampire could possess than this.

Of all the meals Saito has enjoyed this would be the most satisfying. They would now call him All-Father, Your Radiance, King of kings. For the next eighteen years all creatures of the blood would be under his rulership. At the end of his reign he would then surrender his heart to the new Supreme. 

He chewed slowly, savoring the flavor of divinity. In his time Saito had swallowed whole empires. Once thought of as a scourge upon the mortal world, he would now ascend to true godhood.

His reign had begun.

+

Artur wandered the corridors of his home clad in only his nightdressings and bearing a candle. Dominik had informed him that he typically spent most of the night in slumber as well, awakening between the hours of noon and midnight.

He had also been told that while Dominik had his own estate, he preferred to live amongst his bestower’s grounds. Currently he was residing here with them. 

Artur often found himself restless awaiting the time that Dominik would rise and they could indulge in his proclivities. So when he noted the hour of Dominik’s awakening was approaching, he decided he would go to him rather than wait.

He found Dominik had taken up residence in the abandoned portion of the castle. The cold night air was a pleasant sensation against his skin. Artur entered Dominik’s room without hesitation and was immediately greeted by the sight of his mounted casket.

His coffin was rather elegant; glass with an ornately sculpted marble lid which bore images of wolves along the sides and a cloaked maiden at its center. The decorative shapes and patterns were so old he could not discern from what period of time they originated. Artur should have been able to see Dominik through the glass, but his coffin appeared to be filled to the brim with a red substance he assumed could only be blood. 

Fascinated, Artur ran his fingers down the length of the casket. Waiting, albeit impatiently, for Dominik to rise.

He did not have to wait much longer. Slowly the lid of the coffin lifted, some blood spilling out from the top onto the floor. Dominik sat up slowly and Artur saw with excitement that he was nude, clothed only in crimson. 

“You sleep in blood.” Artur said, breathless.

Dominik inclined his head, rising further to move out of the casket. “My species appetite for blood is rather insatiable.”

Well _ that _ was promising. There was something else Artur wanted to ask. “Why the long sleeping hours? I scarcely see you at all in daylight.”

“While sunlight isn’t fatal to me, prolonged exposure must be avoided. It decreases a vampire’s vitality. My species is more sensitive than others. I can only handle sunlight for an hour.”

“I see,” Artur said. Then he tilted his head, a smirk on his face, “Come with me. I imagine you must be famished. I am too.” He did not wait for Dominik to clothe himself, he wouldn’t need clothes where they were going.

He led Dominik to the dungeons. In the room furthest from the southwest there were four large iron cages suspended from the ceiling. Artur had filled each of them to their capacity with naked captive Bokori men and women. To the victor the spoils, as they said. They hadn’t had food since they’d been brought to the castle, and most of them were too weak to plead anymore. That was fine, he didn’t need their screams.

Artur nodded to the group of guards he’d assembled in the room. All of them had been given long spears. He looked to Dominik. “I know I said I prefer to be tormented rather than to torment, but I have been known to make exceptions.”

Taking his hand, Artur guided him to stand beneath one of the cages. Dominik raised a brow at him. “This is...unexpected. But pleasantly so.”

Artur took his place under an adjoining cage. He looked to the guards. “You may begin.”

On his orders the guards began thrusting their spears into the cages, tearing through flesh and drawing blood. With so many bodies in each of them, it didn’t take long for the red to flow in a downpour, soaking Dominik and himself. 

There were cries of agony and horror. Artur was mostly focused on the sensation of the blood soaking through his nightdress to coat his skin. He watched Dominik tilt his head back, open his mouth and catch the crimson on his tongue. His skin already stained from his coffin, he now looked as though he were a creature made only of blood. It was thrilling.

Dominik grabbed his wrist, pulling him into a kiss and though he felt a spike of irritation Artur returned it. He was much more enthused when he was roughly thrown onto the ground. 

Dominik mounted him without gentleness or regard for his comfort. Only raw, primal need. _ Yes, _ Artur thought as he was taken ruthlessly. _ Yes, this is what I want. _

When they were finished, blood ran down his thighs and his body ached exquisitely. He knew part of the blood was coming from him but he could not distinguish where his blood began and where the prisoners ended.

  


+

  


The Carpathian landscape of Transylvania was reminiscent of the mountain ranges of Akaishi in Japan. Gazing at its horizon from his window brought a whisper of a smile to his lips. Saito had spent centuries travelling abroad but remained fond of those fleeting echoes of his native land. 

Since being elected Supreme, he had inherited the Roşu Intens Castle, carved out of the Carpathian Mountains, overlooking several villages along its plains region. An esteemed and ancient seat of numerous Supremes before him. From every corner of the known world, his vampiric court would come together here, many joined by their bestowers. Though he had been residing in the castle for well over a month, his official coronation would be tonight due to the lunar significance. For it would be the night of a blood moon.

He heard the distinctive whisper-light footsteps of his companion Yusuf entering the chamber. “The Himalayas are a far more impressive sight.” Yusuf said with a put-upon sigh, still unhappy with their relocation. 

Turning to face his companion, Saito admired the way the sunlight illuminated Yusuf’s blood red hair and eyes. Even the fangs that protruded from Yusuf’s mouth seemed to glisten. While rakshasa vampires tended to intimidate other species whom could more easily pass for humans Saito found them to be amongst the most beautiful creatures of the blood. 

“It will grow on you.” Saito assured him, taking the glass of blood that offered to him. “18 years is a drop in the ocean for our kind.”

“Yes, I suppose you’re right.” Yusuf allowed before shifting the subject. “In addition to the feast and party, the Superiors are expecting you to fill the position of favorite bestower in due time.”

As Yusuf spoke he ran a hand down the sleeve of Saito’s kimono, careful not to cut the fabric with his long pointed nails. Saito was dressed in a more elaborate one, silk with the colors of crimson bleeding into black towards the bottom with the image of a golden dragon swallowing the sun imprinted on it. His hair was partly pulled back into a bun, but he let a portion of its generous length cascade down to his shoulders. 

He took a sip of his glass, considering his companions words. “You know I have never desired to have one.”

“There’s a first time for everything.” Yusuf drawled. “And I know you’re not as immune to the pleasures of the flesh as you portray yourself to be. There could be a rare gem in those masses of bestowers, exquisite blood that would be yours and yours alone. And as you say, traditions are our lifeblood.”

In the East they did not have a culture of bestowing in the way Europeans did. Vampires there took blood from all across the land, regardless of the social status or the ancestry of its host. Those of his peers who became travelers and blood merchants would occasionally adopt the practice of bestowing but Saito had not felt moved to follow in their stead. However every Supreme, no matter what their cultural background, had taken a favorite bestower before him. And while Saito was not against creating new practices, this was an area where there was nothing to lose in continuing the custom.

When his court convened he would be surrounded by the highest pedigree of bestowers in the world. Surely there would be at least one among them that would catch his eye.

  


_ \+ _

  


In the brisk morning light Eames watched as his blood ran down from his wrist into a glass goblet. This was standard routine; Mal preferred blood mixed with old Italian wine to get her day underway. 

Dressed only in her linen slip and corset, Mal traced the lines of his palms fondly. Her white lace gloves had sharp golden claws on each finger. Cutting Eames with them was her preferred method of taking his blood. Regrettably the anatomy of her mouth was such that she could not draw blood by biting him without him perishing.

“Shame we’re short on time love,” Eames said. “I miss the taste of your cunt already.” He was but a happily devoted disciple at the altar of her sex. But there was more to life than romping in the sheets for the nobility.

Mal could only handle three hours of sunlight a day, and today that time would be spent charming members of the Supreme’s court. They had travelled from his motherland of Germany to Transylvania and were currently taking up residence in the castle of one of Mal’s other bestowers. 

With the suns rays illuminating her dark cascades of loose hair, Mal was every inch an Aphrodite in the flesh. “In due time Eames. I want to see what you plan to wear today.” She said while her maids moved about her like fluttering birds.

Eames made a face of exaggerated affront. “I believe I’ve earned the right to dress without supervision. When has my taste in clothing ever disappointed you?”

“Don’t be a shrew chéri, it’s not attractive.” 

His family had become Mal’s bestowers when he was just a small lad. His mother was a well-off English widow who married a German Duke and took up residence in his estate and gave him a legitimate heir. Eames’ father had a handful of daughters from a previous marriage, making him his only son. While this afforded him no small measure of dotting growing up, with that came rigid expectations on his behaviour and personal expression. His father never took kindly to Eames’ fondness for eccentrism, acting, and most of all his dalliances into feminine and andorgyneous physical appearance. 

It had been precisely all those “sinful, abhorrent,” behaviours that had drawn Marquis Mal Desrosiers to the von Eames family. As well as the fact that they traced their bloodline back to the Romans of old. Occasionally she would feed off some of his sister’s blood, but for the most part Eames was her primary bestower.

With the goblet half full of his blood he began to dress his wound. A servant filled the rest of the cup with Mal’s favorite wine and stirred it carefully before allowing Eames to take it.

He gave the goblet to Mal, who was still in the process of getting dolled up for the day. She had just finished using washballs mixed with shredded herbs and soap, as she did each morning and evening. Two of her maids were applying a toner of Bran water and almond oil to her skin. They would then begin applying pearl powder, which would make Mal’s already fair complexion even whiter.

“Love, you won’t be satisfied until your skin could blend in with freshly laid snow, will you?” Eames teased. An ivory complexion was in high demand amongst upper society, but Mal possessed a competitive edge by virtue of her vampiric nature. The powder was more a showcase of her generous wealth than a necessary cosmetic. 

Mal grinned at him with fondness, taking a long sip of her cup. “Indeed I will not Alfred.” She eyed the pamphlet in Eames’ other hand. “Why do you insist on reading that trash?”

The pamphlet was religious in nature, proclaiming the sinfulness of women submitting to vanity. Eames shrugged. “It’s amusing to hear men of such staunch faith rail against women using cosmetics, knowing that by night they spend themselves in painted evening ladies.”

He tossed the pamphlet aside, moving over to where her gown for the day was draped. A lovely shade of yellow with ivory accents. Eames admired its finery and craftsmanship.

Truly Mal wore the best outfits money could buy. Delicate winged lace collars were particularly her favorite. Her seamstresses spent months constructing just one, and she constantly fretted and threatened to geld Eames should he handle her carelessly and ruin them. He remained playful about her vanity, as truth be told he held much the same temperament. Certainly he appreciated her commitment to looking utterly ravishing at all times. He especially appreciated how the low rounded necklines often featured on her dresses offered a pleasing view of her breasts. 

Mal was already a tall woman, and tended to favor pronounced shoulder wings which gave her form an added air of regalia. Over the years he had seen her taste in fabric color shift from dark, heavier materials to vivid, pastel satins. He found this quite amusing, as one might assume her personality leaned towards the jolly side based on her current wardrobe. She was anything but. She was darkly passionate, shrewd, and debaucherous with a cruel streak most would find unpleasant. For Eames it was delightful to see in motion. 

He gathered up the clothing he’d chosen to wear. It was a tad difficult to decide how grandiose he should go when he knew little about the engagement they were heading to so he settled on a gold and ivory slashed doublet with a ruff-inspired collar as well as white breeches and knee high black boots. His breeches would be fastened to his doublet with several black points, which were tipped with diamond gemstones.

When he presented this outfit to Mal she studied it intensely, before finally humming her approval. “Good, it pairs well with mine. Hurry up and put it on, the carriage is waiting.”

Eames nearly quipped about the fact that she had yet to be fully dressed herself, but saved the remark. There would be ample time to tease her on what was sure to be a dreadfully uneventful commute to the castle.

  


+

Toes curling, Artur sighed in content as his feet were given another lashing. At this point portions of the sensitive soles had been torn open by the whip and blood dripped freely into a bowl seated below him. While this wouldn’t provide Dominik with enough blood to satiate his hunger- which proved to be as bottomless as he’d proclaimed, it remained far too enjoyable to pass up. 

When they finished, Artur would be forced to walk about with a constant throbbing ache. With each bit of pressure applied to his wounds he would be sharply reminded of their game, and grow hungry for more play. 

Pity that Dominik took little pleasure in the act of tormenting him. He enjoyed political schemes and bringing once powerful houses to their knees, exposing all manner of atrocities and secrets. But sexually he was not a person that took pleasure in another’s suffering. Indeed, often he expressed concern about the lengths Artur was willing to go to achieve satisfaction.

Presently they were residing at the estate of the Ardelean family in Transylvania. Dominik had told him that the foremost leader of the vampiric community known as the Supreme had been newly elected and it was imperative he venture to his court. Artur had been intrigued at the chance to delve more deeply into his benefactors world and it had not been hard to convince Dominik to allow him to accompany him. In a few hours they would make their pilgrimage to the Supreme’s castle.

But for now they had time to indulge. Artur made a noise of distaste when he saw Dominik set the whip aside.

“That’s enough.” Dominik said with finality. “I don’t want you stumbling when you’re walking among the court.” He crawled up the bed, draping himself over Artur’s body.

“Ravish me.” Artur demanded rather than argue. “I want to see what you become when the last vestige of control you cling to is cast aside again.”

Dominik grimaced, stroking Artur’s cheek. “I wish to try something different this time. I’ve given you the lash, now I want to give you tenderness.”

Artur nearly rolled his eyes, finding nothing appealing about such a proposal. He supposed he could allow his benefactor this, though he would take no joy in such an act. When he lips were taken in a gentle kiss, he opened his mouth.

What followed was a torture of a different sort. Slow, soft sex Artur could barely stomach. Though Dominik enjoyed it immensely, more than Artur had seen from him before. He put his seed inside him, and peppered his face and neck with light kisses. For himself Artur found no such release, in fact he went soft, though he assured Dominik that this was fine. As he allowed himself to be held afterwards, he remained profoundly unsatisfied. 

  


+

Eames resisted the urge to once again peer outside the window of their carriage, restless. He was never one for long commutes, especially when Mal pointedly refused his numerous suggestions that they fuck to fill the time. Normally she was more agreeable, Eames having become a master in the art of fucking her senseless while still keeping their looks at the utmost presentable. Today there would be no such indulgences. 

“So, tell me about this castle and court we’re going to.” Eames said. Mal had been curiously tight lipped about the whole affair, which could only mean it was highly important. 

Chin resting on her hand, Mal regarded him for a moment before answering. “Roşu Intens Castle is where we are going, to meet the new Supreme.”

_ That _ had Eames perking up. While he’d yet to be entrusted with specifics about the vampirarchy with which Mal belonged to, he’d learned enough over the years to know that the rank of Supreme was the highest one could achieve.

Curiosity piqued, he decided it wouldn’t hurt to ply her for more information. “I must admit darling, it distresses me how in the dark you keep me about your world.”

The complaint was met with a light chuckle. “I suppose it won’t hurt to educate you seeing as how you will be with me in court. Every eighteen years a new Supreme is elected by the Superiors.”

“Superior is quite a title.” Eames mused. “What’s so special about them?”

“Superiors are the oldest among us, said to be the first vampires in existence. A Supreme must be at the rank of Superior to be considered for election.” Mal watched him absorb the information she gave. “Most species of vampires are only capable of withstanding three hours of sunlight a day without their vitality becoming diminished. The Superiors are capable of handling six hours and whoever is crowned Supreme is given the Morningstar, and granted the ability to walk in the sunlight with total invulnerability.”

“What is the Morningstar?” Eames pressed, and should have known better than to push his luck. Mal just revealed more to him in seconds than she has in the entire twenty years he’s known her. Such generosity was sure to be short-lived.

“You know I love you sharply dressed and just as sharply minded chéri, but there are some times when it is better to keep the allure of mystery.” She moved the curtain aside then, smiling. Mal pulled down her lace veil. “We’ve arrived.”

+

As Dominik wished to spend the lone hour he could withstand the sun mingling with the Supreme’s court, Artur had ridden in the carriage alongside his coffin while he slept inside. It had not been as long a journey as they’d taken to get from Hungary to Transylvania, Dominik had found a castle for them to stay in not far from the Supreme’s residence.

Upon their arrival, Artur took in the sight of Roşu Intens Castle. Built out of the Carpathian Mountains, it was a massive black structure with six towers and golden tiled roofs. There were mounted statues of the sun atop each tower, though notably there was no castle wall surrounding the palace. Which spoke to the immense sense of power and security of those who resided inside of it. It was an impressive sight.

Artur was greeted by three servants, all of whom were extremely pale, pink eyed, and had shaved heads with distinctive scars in the shape of an “x” upon their foreheads. They were clad in black robes that reminded him of friars. Two of them took Dominik’s casket as the third led him inside to the room they would be occupying.

The interior of the castle was quite grandiose and lushly decorated. Artur’s boots walked on glimmering black floors and golden rugs, up spiraling staircases. They passed by several statues of various demons, as well as mounted portraits of individuals he suspected were previous Supremes. He also saw several other individuals being led into rooms, but did not pay much attention to them.

That was until he collided with another, their shoulders smacking together. Artur did not pause to offer apologies and meant to continue on to his quarters.

“Pardon you,” He heard as he walked away. “You should be more mindful when you’re walking amongst your betters.”

Turning on his heel, Artur found himself being appraised by the man. He flitted his gaze up and down in turn. While obviously of high rank he was done up and carried himself like an arrogant stage actor. Everything from his clothes to his posture was frankly pompous. Well built and fetchingly pretty. The kind of person who had never been in a fray. Not a real one at least. Not someone worth his time.

Lips curled in unmasked disgust, Artur gave a curt laugh and went about his way. 

+

It was a feverish red hour. The blood moon illuminated the sky as if it were the bleeding heart of God cut out and displayed. On this feral night the cries of wolves could be heard across a great distance. All things dark and ravenous rose to seek out prey.

Clothed all in white, Saito knelt before the altar of the First Blood. Two Superiors emptied their basins of blood onto him, soaking him in that essence of life. Painting him with the blood of Satan’s legion. It spilled out onto the floor, filling out the cuts in the marble floor which made up the shape of a heart. 

The former Supreme stepped forward then, presenting him with the Crown of the Holy Beast. A splendid crown of black teeth and claws with an emerald serpent's eye at its center. As it was placed atop his head the Morningstar which resided in his heart shines golden through his clothing. He proceeded to his throne, atop a flight of stairs it sat, crimson in its splendor with the black bones of fallen angels wings sprouting from it. His servants engaged in self mutilation, piercing their cheeks with long needles. They sang an ancient chant as they moved about the room. A bellowing unholy choir.

All the while his court paid witness the ritual. Within the crowd of subjects two human men watched Saito with rapt attention. Desire rose inside of them, a singular thought dominating their minds: _ I have to have him _.

And so the stage is set Reader.

**Author's Note:**

> Credit to grizzly_bear_bane for the idea of vampires drinking alcohol from bottles with hearts in it


End file.
